Only those who dare may fly
by maglin
Summary: He still dreams of fire. Sometimes it is nothing but a red angry glow behind his closed eyeslids. Sometimes it comes down like rain. Most of the time though, he dreams of another heat. Maybe he has never been afraid of fire. - Drabble collection that has yet to grow
1. If the sharks were people (Sansa)

**Wenn die Haifische Menschen wären...**

_Zwei weiße Haie glitten grad durch deine Augen.  
Ich schmeck das bittre Salz der See in meinem Mund.  
Es ist noch Angst in mir, wie könnte ich auch glauben,  
dass dort kein Zweifel wäre unten auf dem Grund?  
Ich versinke. Ich ertrinke ..._

It is true, she thinks. He is a murderer, a monster. Born out of hate and blood and fire, he could be right out of one of Old Nan's tales. The scary ones Bran used to love, his and Arya's eyes shining with excitement, while she clutched her blanket tighter and suppressed a shiver.

_But_, a voice in the back of mind adds and it sounds feral, almost like a snarl, like _him_ she realizes, _they are all monsters here. One more vicious than the next. And all more dangerous than you._

And at least he is not making a secret out of it. He says so at every opportunity (says, but never acts on it, she has noticed lately), has a reminder written on his very skin.

(Though, she thinks, it is more like a reminder for himself that he is not the worst of the them. Not by far.)

_"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful."_

He is like an island of truth in a sea full of liars and she is grateful for its shore, no matter how hard and unwelcoming it is, because she feels like she is drowning and no one seems to care. Instead of helping hands she feels their eyes on her, calculating, waiting. And she almost hears their whispers.

_"Are you giving up? Are you broken yet? Can you go on?"_

_No_, she wants to shout at them, _no I cannot. I am tired, I am _sinking_! _

(And yet, she does not, because there is a rocky strip of beach, full of sharp stones and shattered seashells, where she can rest from time to time.)

But she can feel the sharks lurking beneath the surface. Calculating, waiting. Just out of sight. And if she could see them, she knows they would be smiling. All teeth and no mercy (not real one at least) and sometimes she catches herself thinking that it may would be better if she let them. It would not matter. It is not like someone would notice after all. There is no one _left_ to notice.

Except, maybe there is, for every time she starts to see the shadows under water, tastes the salt in her mouth and feels something nip at her feet ever so slightly... He is there. Somewhere. A steady presence in the shadows around her and she feels strangely reminded of Lady. Sweet little Lady, long gone, like all the others.

(She was the first hint, but she did not hear, did not _listen_.)

She would laugh at the comparison (if she would still know how to, but she does not), for there are probably not two creatures on this earth more different. Except they are not. Not really. A wild beast, untamed and dangerous for anyone but her, never her.

(She can almost feel Lady's teeth moving gently against her fingers without breaking the skin and then her eyes stray to the looking-glass in front of her, the scar on her lip so thin and fine that one would never spot it if not knowing where to look. But she knows and she remembers calloused fingers wiping blood away they did not spill.)

However, she still cannot bear to look at him without flinching, always staring at a point just beside his ear (the one he still has left) and she still resents his hateful nature.

(Sometimes she thinks there lies the true danger. His fury will infect her, consume her and pull her under water with the incoming tide and she will welcome it. The shore can be treacherous in its own way she supposes.)

But she is grateful and she wishes she could thank him for... well, she is not sure. He is not kind (though telling her the truth is the kindest thing somebody has done for her in a long time). He is no knight (especially not a true one, he never fails to remind her). He certainly is not comely (and she struggles to remember why that matters). But he is there (and she tries not to get used to it, for sooner or later she will be the death of him too, like she was for Lady and her father, and then she will be alone again, a lonely seagull in a sea full of sharks) even if she has yet to figure out why. He seems to dislike her, she thinks, and the feeling is mutual.

His company is tiring, she does not like being near him. But she likes being near _them _even less.

Anyway, she has tried to thank him once before and the memory of what happened back then lets her shy away from the idea. So she just keeps quiet and forces a shaky smile on her lips when a sharp knock at her door announces his arrival. Like always.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**Ahem... **Yes,_ i should be doing homewok right about now...and if i can't bring myself to do so and want to write Fanfiction really badly (I did... I do) at least I could continue the ones I already started first.

_true_... but where would be the fun in that?

So.. here is.. well... not quite sure.. a piece of Ice and fire, the aftermath of reading too much fanfiction and the actual books and probably the HBO show is also to blame ?!  
There is more to come i fear, got a few ideas and i tend to write the most when i shouldn't be and since my exams are just around the corner... So brace yourself for more strange Oneshots from the sleep-deprived creature that is me. Critique is most welcome, like always.

**BTW:**

The title is inspired by the shortstory of Berthold Brecht (here is an englisch and a german version of it ( /title/If+the+Sharks+Were+People )  
and the lyrics beneath are from one of my favourite StS Songs, 2000 Meilen unterm Meer (2000 Miles under the Sea)

_Two white sharks just slid through your eyes_  
_I can taste the sea's bitter salt in my mouth_  
_There is still fear in me, how could i believe_  
_that there wouldnt be any doubt down on the seabed?_  
_I'm drowning, I'm sinking..._

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin

See ya soon, Mag~


	2. Hell is empty (Sandor)

**Hell is empty and all the devils are here**

_Now and forever  
You're just another lost soul about to be mine again  
See her, you'll never free her  
You must surrender it all  
In your life to meet again_

_Fire_  
_All you desire_  
_As she begins to turn cold and run out of time_  
_You will shiver_  
_Till you deliver_  
_You will remember it all_

_Let it blow your mind again_

He does not remember how he made it down from her chamber to the stables. All he knows, is that he is suddenly on Stranger's back, his hands clutching the reigns but not controlling them. Right now he couldn't even if he wanted to and so he lets the horse choose the way. Reliable as ever it strives against the stream of people, soldiers, women, children… it does not matter. Right now they are all just part of this madness he wants to leave behind so badly.

It's raining fire, green and red alike and he wouldn't be surprised to find out that they all have died already and just didn't notice it yet. Hell can't be that different. No, fuck that. In comparison to this inferno hell must be a friggin' paradise. He can feel the heat of the fires, it's just like he remembers it, but even stronger is the memory of another heat: a soft lithe body pressed against his not even an hour ago. He curses and spurs Stranger on, the stallion obediently picking up the pace, tearing through narrow back streets and finally stepping on one of the wide main ones. He doesn't check their course, it leads away from the fires, away from the Mud Gate. That's all he cares about.

They are still so far, though. The air is filled with screams, screams and smoke and the smell of blood, and the mass of people blocking his path does not seem to end. He urges the horse forward again and indignant Stranger throws his head back, but obeys. Absently, he pats his neck with trembling fingers, a silent apology.

The battle rages around him and its roar is deafening, but he doesn't listen. His ears are filled with a thin, trembling voice singing a long forgotten melody and the faint smell of lemon and lavender still lingers in his nose. It's not enough to soothe his terror, but it lets him keep his sanity, or that what's still left of it.

Damn the Seven, he wants to go back. Go back and drag her out of her room and take her with him, but the sea has closed behind him already. It's impossible to turn back.

_She wouldn't want you anyway_… whispers a voice in his head. _Have you forgotten already, you stupid old dog? _'Let me go', _she said. '_You're scaring me', _she said. Did you really think she would go with a monster like you?_

A quiet voice, soft even, but cold and mocking like a mirror. He knows it well, this voice. It's his steady companion and no matter how loud he shouts, how much he pleads, it won't leave him alone. He has learned to ignore it, but tonight it's too strong, too powerful for him. It rises from the darkest depths of his mind where he has banned it and laughs at him.

Rage and Fear are doing battle in his chest and he lets them, so they might drown out the voice and kill the disappointment that has crept into his heart, just like _she_ did. He was careful, so very careful, to lock it away all those years ago, that he was convinced he did not even have one. He's a murderer, a ruthless killer. He has slaughtered men and child alike for many years. He would still do. Hell, he _is_, cutting down everything that is too slow to make way for him, as he hurries towards the gate. But her…

The Gate of the Gods appears before him, its guards long slain and buried in the mud at Stranger's feet. They are past them in less than a heartbeat and suddenly the path is free and the horse has finally room to run, really run.

They leave it all behind, the fires, the screams, the battle. This goddamn city with its blasted liars. The Little Bird and her true knights. Everything.

But deep down he knows that that ain't true. Tomorrow, when he is finally away and terror and fury have tired each other out, the voice will still be there. Unscathed. Cold and mocking like a mirror.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Hi there^^ Me again with another Oneshot, this time from Sandor's perspective, during the Blackwater.

so far these are all byproducts of a longer fic i'm working on, which probably will take a while still (want to have it complete before uploading).

Critique is always welcomed, see you around, Mag.

**BTW:**

The title is a quote by William Shakespeare, the lyrics beneath from the Song _"Into the Fire"_ by Disturbed...

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin

See ya soon, Mag~


	3. Heaven burns (Sandor)

**Heaven burns**

_Einen Feuersalamander  
hältst du dir als Wappentier  
Du bist Läuterung und Reinheit  
stehst für unstillbare Gier  
Aus den Haaren fallen Funken  
schön'res hab ich nie gesehn  
Aufgelöst in Rauch und Asche  
will ich brennend untergehn_

He still dreams of fire.

Sometimes it is nothing but a red angry glow behind his closed eyelids. He can't see it, but he _feels_ it. A hot white pain shoots through him and he feels himself melting. The pain is so great that he wonders how he can be still alive. How can anybody be still alive when he is in so much pain? The smell of burning flesh fills his nose. _His_ burning flesh, and it makes him sick to the stomach. Ash stirs and fills his lungs. He is burning. He is choking. And he fights to get away from the flames, away from the ashes. Away, away _away_. He struggles and kicks, his ears ringing with a terrible, shrill sound that he only later recognizes as his own voice.

He can't get away. Can't get up. Something presses him into the flames, strong and unyielding and the more he struggles the harder it forces him down. He can feel how his neck creaks and is filled with the terrible hope that his brother will break his neck and end his agony before long. His brother. _Gregor_.

His hand, holding him down in a vice grip, is hot too. It burns his flesh, burns itself in his skin and he is sure that will leave a mark, a mark for all to see. Flames lick at his cheeks, crawl down his throat and another sound drowns out the fearful screaming. Gregor is laughing, cold and hard and loud, so loud. It fills his ears and echoes in his head.

That's his world, a taste of ashes, a cold laugh in his ears, a hand scorching his neck and the smell of himself, burning, filling his nose.

He trembles when he wakes, feeling the bile rise and only barely manages to sit up and lean to the side before he can't hold it back anymore. His whole body cramps, cold sweat is breaking on his back. He can feel his teeth tingle and his eyes sting with tears when the acid burns his throat and nose. He retches until there is nothing left, still trembling all over, and it's only then, that he notices cool small hands drawing circles on his bare back, holding back his sweaty hair. The scent of lemon and lavender drives away the memory of burned flesh and then he feels soft lips at his temple, whispering in his ruined ear. She cradles him, rocking back and forth and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

_He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. It's ok. You are safe._

Sometimes it comes down like rain. Green and red alike it pours down on him, but not only the sky is ablaze, the ground is too and so is everything else. It seems, the world is coming to an end. His lungs are full of smoke and the smell makes his insides churn. He wants to run, to flee. Far far away, anywhere but here, but no matter where he turns, there is no escape. Only a sea of faceless shadows, blocking his path. Screaming and wailing, they reach for him. He's not sure if they want him to save or to join them but he isn't going to do either of those.

There is nothing but fear in him as he is turning in wild circles, hacks at shadows and fire alike, but his sword is useless against them. It won't save him this time.

And he begins to despair for he knows he has lost something, must find it in this chaos before it will perish in the flames, burned and broken. He's not even sure what it is, but he's needs it, hungers for it like his lungs hunger for a breath of fresh air. He snarls and growls and snaps and fights but no matter where he turns to, he can't find it. His fear is chilling as a winter's breeze. He wishes he could use it to kill the heat of the flames, but the ice inside him is so cold that it burns just like the fire that surrounds him. So he is burning inside out and outside in _and he just can't find it._

He howls then, a long and broken sound. More hound than man. The masses fall silent and part before him, leaving a narrow path. He rushes through, the way before him ablaze, the heat crawling through the soles of his shoes, burning them away until he runs barefoot on glowing coals. The pain is white and hot but he doesn't stop, only runs faster, the shadows rushing alongside him.

Whatever his destination is, whatever is waiting for him at the end of this road, he never makes it. He has lost it.

When he wakes he is disorientated, the flames and shadows nothing but a blurred memory, dulled by repetition, but the despair inside him fresh and strong. There are tears in his eyes and he chokes on fear, feeling hollow. His lungs are gone, his heart too, _everything_ and…

…and then there are fingers in his hair, stroking, soothing. A song in his ear, soft and reassuring. He feels lips pressed to his neck, where his pulse is thundering away and he remembers that he still has a heart, beating furiously in his chest, scared but alive. It's easier to breathe all of the sudden and when he pulls her against him, so tight that it's hard to tell where she begins and he ends, the heat of her lithe soft body chases the last of the cold inside him away.

_I'm here, Sandor. I'm here. It's ok. I'm safe._

Most of the time he dreams of another heat though. Its flames leave no marks, none visible to the eye at least. And yet it burns hotter than anything he has ever felt before. This fire can be soft and cool under his touch, glistening in the light, or blaze like the summer sun, down in the south. Red lips leave fiery trails on his skin, dainty fingers draw patterns like hot iron and soothe them with a flick of a little pink tongue. He fears it and he loves it, this fire, for its consuming him, devouring him whole and rendering helpless. He couldn't go without it anymore. But something tells him that it works both ways.

Their bodies melt into each other, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. He is shaking and can feel how she is trembling in response, just as desperate as he is. His thumbs brush over the smooth skin of her belly, up her sides, over her ribs to the underside of her breasts and he feels her nails digging into his shoulders, breaking his skin as she arches her back. Maybe there will be marks after all. He swallows her moans, breathes them in and returns them with one of his own. They are on fire and for once he doesn't mind, but welcomes it. Teeth graze his collarbone, nipping at him, before she places kisses on his neck. He leans into her, drunken on her heady smell, and holds her tight. He wants to be closer still. Needs to.

And when he wakes she is there, her long red hair falling down and framing his face, her hands on his chest and a wicked smile on her lips that clearly doesn't belong to a lady (he likes it all the more).

_We are free, Sandor. We are free. It's ok._ _We are safe._

Maybe he has never been afraid of _fire_.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Hi there^^ And yet another piece inspired by my upcoming fic "Wolfhound"... I'm not sure about this, so critique is most welcomed!

Thank you and see you around, Mag!

**BTW:**

The lyrics beneath the title are from the Song _"Herrin des Feuers" (Mistress of Fire)_ by Subway to Sally (the song of the first fic was by them as well)...

It fits Sansa really well i think, though it's probably more a song for Melisandre (but i don't like her :P) or dany (but she has no red hair)

anyway.. here is my crappy try of a translation (the original is so much better).

_A fire salamander_

_you hold as your sigil_

_You're standing for reformed, pure_

_and unsateble greed_

_Sparks are falling from your hair_

_I've never seen anything more beautiful_

_Turned into smoke and ashes_

___I want to perish burning_

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin.

See ya, Mag~


	4. Kill the messenger (Sansa)

**Kill the messenger**

_Up spoke, up spoke a mockingjay  
Up from a willow tree  
Saying, You had a father in the mines  
Who's gone this day from thee thee  
Who's gone this day from thee  
Woe be woe be oh mockingjay  
Woe be woe be to thee  
I'll send an arrow through your heart  
For to bring such news to me me  
For to bring such news to me_

Her naked feet make no sound as she walks through the dark empty halls. There is nothing but the howl of the wind and if she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine that she is home, really home, where the wolves would sing a lullaby at night. It's cold too, young Robin broke a window the other day, but she feels nothing even if her breath is a small white cloud in the freezing air. Her mind is occupied with other things tonight.

She listens to a voice speaking in her head, looks for memories of it that will give her the strength she will need tonight. It's not hard. She knows this voice better than her own these days, especially since she isn't sure anymore if her voice is really still _hers_. So many different lives and names and lies. Shouldn't her voice be different too?

_Stupid little bird_, the voice in her head comments on that. It's rough and hard, full of biting mockery, but she only smiles. It's right after all.

She rounds another corner, the corridor before her as deserted as was the last. It's a good thing that everyone is so concerned with the dangers that lurk outside that no one bothers to watch out for threats from within. The Eyrie is impregnable. Everyone knows that. And there is no reason to be afraid of caged birds, especially not little ones. But tonight she isn't planning on being a bird. Another memory swirls up, the sound of claws on stone, right by her side. She smiles at that too, but this time it's a sad one.

Another hallway, a flight of stairs and she reaches the door she's been looking for. Her heart beating furiously in her chest, she lays a hand on the smooth wood, hesitating. Once she has stepped through it there will be no turning back. What she's about to do will change her for forever and she knows it.

_Killing is the sweetest thing there is,_ says the voice, but for once she doesn't believe it.

_Is it really? Than why did you always look so bitter? _

She wants to ask, but there is no one here to answer her question. Least of all the one to know the answer. If he would be everything would be so very different now. But that's the problem. There is no one else but her and so she will have to do it alone. And perhaps, she thinks, it's better that way. She's tired of waiting for someone to rescue her like it happens in the songs.

_Life is not a song, _she thinks sardonically, the echo of another voice in her head. She has learned that lesson. And she's been sorry. But even more so will he, for tonight she's a Stark. She's a wolf. Unsuspecting birds are no match for a direwolf on the prowl.

She takes a deep breath, in out, and silently opens the door, sliding through the tiny crack with a whisper of her garments. The room behind it lies in deep darkness. She knows she got the right one though, because the smell of mint hangs heavy in the air and it takes all her strength of will to keep from retching. She had never known how powerful a simple, harmless scent can be but she's sure that she will never be able again to eat something with mint in it. The smell alone makes her skin crawl, reminding her of fingers sliding up her sides and touching her through the thin fabric of her dress. The urge to empty her stomach becomes stronger, overwhelmingly so, and hastily she concentrates on the task at hand, listening hard to distract herself.

She can hear it then. Quiet and even breathing. He's fast asleep, just as she hoped. And he seems to be alone too. She wasn't sure if that would be the case. The looming shape of the bed is becoming clear to eyes, accustomed to the blinding darkness now. Another deep breath. In and out.

_Killing is the sweetest thing there is._

She can do this. She has to. Quiet breathing fills her ears and echoes in her mind. There is nothing else in her world right now. Just the breathing and the ever-present scent of mint. And the cold, hard outline of the dagger in her hands. The dagger. Her fingers clutch the hilt tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her hands are trembling. She still feels nauseous.

If there will be a sign of what she's done this night? This cannot not leave a mark on her, can it? She looks down at her hands, almost as if expecting to see that what she's about to do written there already for all the world to see. But then she remembers that not all monsters are so honest to wear their darkness inside out. Most of them hide their fangs behind false smiles, their cruelty behind empty words. Just like the one she is staring down at right now.

But she knows there are other monsters too, ones that snarl and growl and flash their teeth at her and somehow that thought does not frighten but calm her. She knows those monsters. She can handle them.

In. Out. In. Out.

She raises her arms high above her head, grabbing the hilt with both hands just to have something to hold onto and leans over the man on the bed. Maybe he hears her breathing that is fast and shallow now. Maybe he feels her presence. Anyhow, he's awake now, blinking into the darkness before his eyes focus on her. She can see the moment he recognizes her and his lips stretch into a sickening sweet smile, can see his eyes darken with something she has seen there far too often. And then he sees the dagger.

His surprise is still etched in his face when she buries the blade deep in his heart, a quick and fluent motion, the cold steel cutting through skin and flesh and muscle without any resistance. A part of her wonders about how it can be so easy. Killing shouldn't be so easy, she thinks.

She's not sure how long she stands there, listening her breath, the only sound in the room now.

She waits for the guilt.

But it doesn't come.

She waits for the relief.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, she suddenly feels the cold. It burns on her skin, her bare feet are numb. And so she leaves, walking the way back to her chambers where her things are rolled into a tight bundle, wrapped in a stained cloak that once may have been white.

_I'll have to return it_, she thinks absentmindedly, her fingers brushing against the walls as she climbs the stairs. She does not want to be a murderer _and_ a thief.

* * *

_**A/N: **_cause I can't wait for a certain someone to meet a terrible end... (and he better is, Mr. Martin, he better is!)

Also a big _Thank You_ for the reviews...

i still rewrote this one as you may noticed(far far longer now) and now i like it better i think. Though i had to kill my favourite line. Hmh.. I'll have to write something else where I can use it I guess

see you around, Mag!

**BTW:**

The quote is by The Carolina Chocolate Drops (daughter's lament)

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin.

See ya, Mag~


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